Scandal of the Season

by Christie Kelley

  Victoria bit down on her tongue to hold in the truth until she felt the metallic taste of blood. She wished she could tell him the truth. After living a lie for ten years, it would be nice to unburden herself to another person. The urge to tell him overwhelmed her, but she could not give into it. What he thought of her could not matter.

  “A true lady would deny it,” he whispered.

  “I’m not a true lady and never will be,” she retorted.

  Anthony fisted his hands and fought back the anger at what she had become. Quite possibly, what he had made her become. Perhaps if he had never touched her, she would have continued to sell oranges until she could have gone into service for a reputable family. Where the master of the house would have taken her, he thought with disgust.

  Instead, she’d sold her luscious body to any man who would have her. And worse, he would have been the first in line had he known where she’d stayed. He blamed himself for her misfortune, although he knew it wasn’t entirely his fault. She could have asked him to help her.

  But after what he’d been through that night, he doubted he would have done anything for her. His trust of women had been shattered. They were all out for themselves.

  So why did it matter what had happened to this slip of a girl?

  Because what he had done linked them for the rest of their lives. He owed her a debt he could never repay with money. And as much as he desired forgiveness, he would never have it. Nor did he deserve it.

  If only he could understand why he craved to know more about her. He desired to understand her more, to get to know her better. And worse, he wanted her. The one woman he could never have again was the one he wanted unlike any other. The silence in the carriage was causing him to think about dangerous things.

  “Victoria,” he said to break the silence, “tell me about your parents.”

  She whipped her head toward him with a scowl. “There is nothing to tell. My father worked as a baker until he died when I was three. My mother did what she had to until an illness took her when I was seven.”

  “Who took you in after that?”

  “The woman upstairs.” She glanced down at her shoes peeking out from the blanket.

  “And she was the person who made you sell oranges?”

  “Mrs. Perkins did what she had to.”

  “Which was?”

  “She taught me to pick pockets to bring enough money in to support her,” she whispered. “I had to do it or she would have forced me to leave.”

  “What kind of heartless woman would let a young girl out on the streets to make money for her?” The desire to kick something surged in him.

  Victoria laughed scornfully. “You are not that innocent, Somerton. You know what happens to young girls who are left on the streets. Picking pockets was my salvation. And I was good at it. I had a warm place to stay and food to eat. Most of the boys and girls who picked pockets would have killed for what I had.”

  He knew too well what became of most of those young girls because his mother exploited them. “Why didn’t you come to me for assistance after…?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “After? The only thing I knew about you was that your name was Tony. How exactly was I supposed to seek you out?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. He could remember so little of that night. After his mother’s return from death, he’d been blinded by anger and then brandy. Even after nine years of knowing why she’d done it, the frustration surged within him for the deception.

  “Why is my life so important to you?”

  “It most certainly is not. I am merely curious about what you have been doing the past ten years and making conversation to pass the time.”

  “I have been taking care of orphaned children. Nothing more.”

  “And picking pockets when the mood strikes you,” he added.

  “No, only when money is short,” she retorted.

  “So what will you do with the money you get from this little job?”

  She glanced out the window with a wistful look on her face. “Give the children a proper Christmas with gifts and a large meal and nice clothes to wear for church.”

  The woman was nothing but contradictions. She stole from people but apparently only to help the children in her care. Now when given the chance to walk away from her responsibilities, she only wanted to give more to the children.

  Anthony turned his attention to the window and the passing scenery. Something about this nagged at his brain. How did a woman with no means keep a home for orphans based solely on her pickpocket abilities? She was good. Nonetheless, the odds of being caught were always high, and pawned goods never paid near what they were worth.

  So where did the money come from? The only way he knew for a woman to make the amount of money she would need to keep that house was prostitution. Not just prostitution but being some wealthy man’s mistress. Was that possible? Could Victoria have a man who supported her?

  He couldn’t very well ask her that question. And who was he to judge her? His life had hardly been perfect. Women had a much harder lot in life especially if they didn’t have a man to support them. Career options were rather limited.

  Still, the idea that she let any man with the blunt have her made his stomach roil. She deserved far better than that. Perhaps the money he paid her would help her become free of her latest protector. If she even wanted that freedom, his mind countered.

  She appeared to be a mass of contradictions. He couldn’t help his curiosity about her. If she truly had a protector, they must be very secretive; otherwise, her friends might discover the matter. Perhaps her friends assisted her with money for the orphans.

  “Victoria, how did you come to be associated with your friends?”

  She glanced over at him coldly, and for a moment, he thought she would refuse to answer. Looking down her hands, a small smile lifted her lips and creased small dimples in her cheeks.

  “I met Avis at the lending library.”

  “You can read, then.”

  “Yes, I learned when I was eighteen,” she replied in a proud tone.

  He stored that information away for later. While she seemed happy to know how to read, the fact that she was that age meant something.

  “Avis and I wanted to read the same book.” She turned her head toward him. “We ended up talking and then she invited me to her home for a literary salon to discuss the book.”

  “Indeed?”

  She laughed softly. “I never felt so out of place in my life. But Avis, Jennette, and Elizabeth engaged me in the conversation and invited me back the next month. When they discovered I ran the home for orphans and, like them, had no desire for marriage, they started to invite me for tea. Before long, we all became fast friends.”

  “But the three of them are married now,” he reminded her.

  “True, but only after they found their perfect match.”

  Or the person Sophie thought was their perfect match, he thought. “I am glad you found such good friends.”

  She smiled at him fully, causing his heart to increase its beat.

  “Thank you,” she said in a shy tone.

  The carriage slowed to a stop and Victoria looked at him with a frown. “Why are we stopping now? It’s far too soon to be at Farleigh’s home.”

  A groomsman knocked on the carriage door. “My lord, a moment if you please?”

  “Of course,” Anthony answered.

  The groomsman opened the door and snow swirled about him. “The driver says the weather is getting worse. He recommends we stop a few miles up the road at an inn.”

  “No,” Victoria whispered. “We must get to Farleigh’s home.”

  “The party does not really begin until tomorrow night. I would much prefer we make it in one piece.” Anthony turned to the groomsman. “Tell Mr. Chester to do what he believes is best.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Anthony sat back against the squabs and glanced over at her worried face. “Why the su
dden hurry to be at Farleigh’s?”

  “I have a job to do. I would prefer to do it and be finished,” she retorted.

  “And receive your payment.”

  She smiled tightly at him. “Exactly. I’m glad to see we understand our positions. I am here only to pretend to be your mistress. Just remember it is nothing more than an act. When we are alone together, our relationship is…is nothing more than employer and employee.”

  “I understand perfectly, Miss Seaton. You are my employee and nothing more.”

  Victoria took Somerton’s hand and climbed down from the carriage. She had to admit that after four hours in the coach, she needed a break away from him. His presence overwhelmed her in the confining space. And his questions intimidated her.

  At least now she would have peace for a night. The idea of spending a night alone sounded heavenly. No children waking her at all hours of the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a full nights sleep.

  “Let’s go,” he said, holding his arm out to her.

  “Yes.”

  As they reached the door to the inn, it swung open. A large man with brown hair and a wide smile greeted them. “Somerton! Are you on your way to Farleigh’s?”

  “Ancroft, I haven’t seen you in months,” Somerton replied with a slight grimace.

  Ancroft looked over at her and smiled, revealing deep dimples in his cheeks. “I can see why. You must be keeping yourself very busy.”

  Heat flashed across her cheeks with his implied meaning. She hoped Somerton would set the man straight but then realized he could not do that. She was here to play a part.

  There was something familiar sounding about his name but she couldn’t place him. Had one of the women next door mentioned him? She didn’t think that was it because they were usually discreet. Why did she know that name?

  Somerton pulled her closer. “Very busy, indeed, Nicholas.”

  “Are you staying the night too, then? The weather has taken a nasty turn,” Ancroft said, looking up at the snow falling from the clouds.

  “Yes. Hopefully, we shall be able to make it the rest of the way tomorrow. And speaking of the nasty weather, I need to get this lovely woman out of it.” Anthony moved forward.

  “We should dine together tonight, Somerton. The three of us.”

  “Nicholas.”

  Victoria sensed the warning Anthony gave the other man but didn’t understand why.

  “I already procured a private dining room and would prefer the company of an old friend and perhaps, a new one.” Ancroft winked at her.

  “Very well, dinner at seven,” Somerton replied. He stepped forward dragging her along with him.

  “Good day, sir.”

  As the door shut behind them, Somerton said, “It’s ‘my lord’ to him.”

  She stopped and pulled her arm out of his grip. “And exactly how would I know that since you never introduced us?”

  “We will discuss this upstairs.”

  Irritation at his manners washed over her. “Since I shall be in my room with the door securely locked, I doubt that conversation will take place.”

  He pulled her close enough that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “But you are mistaken because I would never let my mistress sleep alone.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest. He couldn’t possibly mean what he said. This was all an act. She wasn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t be his mistress. She couldn’t look away from his intense stare.

  “B—but we are at an inn, not the party,” she stuttered.

  “And yet, already the Lord Ancroft knows we are together. So together, we shall stay…all night.”

  Chapter Eight

  Anthony walked up the creaking staircase with Victoria trailing behind him. Damn Nicholas for being here. With him here, Anthony had no choice but to keep her in the same room. As he opened the door to their room, he confirmed his suspicion. The one bed in the center of the room would barely fit two people unless they were snuggled close.

  And he could never sleep that close to her.

  The time he had spent alone with her in the carriage had almost done him in. He constantly let his gaze slide to her sweet face. His thoughts had stayed on her lips until he finally decided making conversation would eliminate the temptation. Not that their discussion helped, either.

  How could a woman who had gone through so much still look so innocent?

  “This will never do,” she said as she followed him into the room.

  “You have no say in the matter,” he replied a little too harshly. He understood her reason, but he would not sleep on a floor again. After spending five months without a decent bed most nights, he would sleep where he damn well pleased.

  “I have no choice?”

  “None at all. The bed is small but we shall manage.”

  “A gentleman would offer to sleep on the floor,” she said, placing her portmanteau on the floor. Folding her arms across her chest, she tapped her foot impatiently.

  He laughed softly. “Sweetheart, I am no gentleman.”

  “I learned that ten years ago,” she retorted with one brow arched.

  Anthony removed his greatcoat and then poked at the fire sending embers up the chimney. Resting his arm on the mantel, he stared at the fire. No woman had ever affected him so thoroughly and in so many different ways. He wanted to protect her and yet wanted to ravish her at the same time. Nevertheless, he had no right to do either.

  He wondered how she could stand to be in the same room with the man who raped her. Perhaps her hard life had taught her to forget the past—something he could not seem to do.

  As she moved in the room, he heard every intake of her breath, every swish of her petticoats. Damn it! Why her? Why couldn’t he control his damned attraction to her? This was a mistake. If he had any sense, he would return her to London and face Farleigh’s jealousy alone.

  She sat on the small chair close to the fireplace and far too near him. “Perhaps now you will tell me why you did not see fit to introduce me to Lord Ancroft?”

  He pushed away from the fireplace and walked to the window. “We have not developed our story.”

  “Our story?”

  “Who you are, when and how we met.” Anthony stared out at the falling snow, praying it would stop soon so they wouldn’t be stuck here another night.

  “Oh,” she replied softly. “I had not considered that.”

  He turned and faced her. “I know. Perhaps now is a good time for that discussion.”

  “I agree. So who am I?” she said with a smile.

  “I think it’s best if we say you are a widow from the country.”

  “Mrs. Smith, perhaps?”

  Anthony took the seat across from her and said, “Perfect. Now how exactly did I meet a widow in the country?”

  She tapped her finger against her full lips. Her blue eyes sparkled in the waning light. A slow smile lifted her full lips upward. “But you did not meet me in the country. I came to town to visit my aunt.”

  “And while visiting…” He had no idea where they might have met.

  “The British Museum?”

  He shook his head. “Highly unlikely I would be there.”

  “The opera?”

  “No.”

  “A bookstore?” she suggested.

  “Very well, then. We met at a bookstore. You could not reach a volume of poetry, so I pulled it down for you. From there we spoke at length before you decided you wished to take a lover. Your first since your husband died two years ago.”

  “What did he die of?” she asked.

  “What does it matter?”

  “Someone might ask. I need to know that we would say the same thing.”

  “Consumption,” he said, knowing it was a common enough malady.

  “Really?”

  Impatient with the conversation, he raked his hands through his short hair. “Why not?”

  “I was rather hoping for something far more exciting than dull consumption,” s
he replied with a shrug.

  “Kill him off any way you deem fit.”

  She smiled and her eyes widened with amusement. “Very well, then. It was a dreadful scandal, you know. His best friend took an improper interest in me. Poor Harry had no choice but to call the man out. Can you imagine, his best friend? And when it was over, both men were dead because of me.” She shook her head with tears in her eyes. “Tragic.”

  Anthony burst out laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time anything or anyone had made him laugh, really laugh. “Well played, Mrs. Smith.”

  “Were the tears too much?”

  “Absolutely perfect.” He suddenly had no fear of her performance this week. She would play the part as if she’d been born on the stage. And it would be best for him to remember that her being here was nothing but a job.

  Victoria watched the serving maid close the door behind her, leaving Victoria in the company of two men with no chaperone. If any of her friends saw her now, she would be mortified. Thankfully, no one would ever discover the truth. Once this week was over, she would return to being Victoria Seaton, the pious woman who took in orphans. And she would have an extra amount of money to allow her a little freedom and security.

  Lady Whitely would not have much say in what Victoria did or with whom she interacted. As much as she owed the lady everything, Victoria had always known Lady Whitely could take it away in an instant, leaving her back on the streets with nothing.

  “Do I now get to meet this beautiful woman?” Lord Ancroft asked with a smile as he walked up to them.

  “Nicholas, this is Mrs. Smith,” Somerton said slowly. “Anne, this is Nicholas, Marquess of Ancroft.”

  Victoria curtsied and hoped she did it properly. Lady Whitely had taught her the correct way to curtsy but it wasn’t a common thing for her. “My lord,” she whispered.

  Ancroft lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the top. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Smith.”

  “And you, my lord.” She stood up fully and took the man in as any mistress would. His brown eyes sparkled as he sent her an easy smile. The unease that had consumed her all day in the carriage and then in the room with Somerton finally dissipated. Lord Ancroft seemed to know how to make a woman feel comfortable.